


Do tell me, my Gods - what is this darkness mine?

by vasilii



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Greek Mythology
Genre: BAMF Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), F/M, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Persephone Goes Willingly With Hades (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Romantic Angst, Romanticism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:48:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23613277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vasilii/pseuds/vasilii
Summary: Just a scribble revolving around Hades and Persephone, with lots and lots of wordbuilding.
Relationships: Hades/Persephone, Hades/Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. I. Earth bound Dead

> _ Lo! Death has reared himself a throne _   
>  _ In a strange city lying alone _   
>  _ Far down within the dim West, _   
>  _ Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best _   
>  _ Have gone to their eternal rest. _   
>  _ There shrines and palaces and towers _   
>  _ (Time-eaten towers and tremble not!) _   
>  _ Resemble nothing that is ours. _   
>  _ Around, by lifting winds forgot, _   
>  _ Resignedly beneath the sky _   
>  _ The melancholy waters lie. _

\- Edgar Allan Poe, The City in the Sea

Hades, being the Lord of the dead was bound to a rather unfortunate fate. Everything touched by the thin white fingers of the God shall inevitably wither in an instant. Die, turn to dust. Everything he lays a hand on, dies. Like a flower does not choose its colour, we are not responsible for what we have come to be. One can only be free if they are at peace with their identity. That being said, why deny Hades is death incarnate? Never will he be anything better, nicer. A prince from a bedtime story, a heroic character from a B-grade epic, built so flawlessly the observer has no alternative but ponder their imperfections. You may not find comfort in the cold touch of Death, but once in his grasp, you are at peace. Death makes you accept yourself, face who you are, for better or worse. As you fall.

  
The Underworld. Misty palace beneath the mortal realm, where he had been cursed to dwell. When I say cursed.. cursed with such dark beauty the world turns its gaze in fear. It is better for such a realm, with such a King, to stay hidden. Hidden, because the shunned and the forsaken have no place in the light. Hidden, so that no innocent being could ever wander into the jaws of death and find themselves drowning, trapped.

  
But, just like its Lord, the realm is beautiful in its own way. Long, silky strands of hair blend into waterfalls whose colour one cannot precisely pinpoint as either midnight black or silver. Almost mindbendingly slowly the water drips over diamonds and most precious earthly jewels, shimmering white and pale like the skin of the God. Trees tall, dark and skinny. Branches woven into intricate patterns, each adorned with a dozen moonflowers of the highest delicacy. They stem from his eyelashes – dark and plenty, blending into white.  
The Lord breathes out and blinks. The Underworld shivers and bends to a sudden dash of wind. His face gentry tilts, hair strands framing a delicate bone structure. Long, thin eyebrows curl around sparkling eyes – white around the pupils and electric blue on the edges. Wide open, glittering while perceiving the vivid world outside. The King breathes in as a tear forms in his eye, spreads through the scales of his skin and finally finishes on the corner of his lips. A shy smile smile escapes the lips of the King, crimson and rosy. Blood rushes. Golden blood of the Gods. He can wait no more.

  
_Even with the King present, the Underworld is incomplete. It has too long been without its Queen._

> We should meet in another life, we should meet in air,
> 
> Me and you

\- Sylvia Plath, Lesbos


	2. II. Desire urges me on, as Fear bridles me

> _If the butterfly wings its way to the sweet light that attracts it, it is because it knows not that the fire is capable of consuming it;_
> 
> _if the thirsty stag runs to be brook, it is because he is not aware of the cruel bow._
> 
> _If the unicorn runs to its chaste nest, it is because he does not see the noose which is prepared for him._
> 
> _In the light, at the fount, in the bosom of my love's light, I see the flames, the arrows and the chains._
> 
> _If my languishing is so sweet to me, it is because the heavenly face delights me so, and because the heavenly bow so sweetly wounds;_
> 
> _And because in that knot is bound up my desire, I suffer eternally through the fire of my heart, the arrow in mind brest, and the yoke upon my soul._

\- Giordano Bruno, The Heroic Frenzies (Part 1, Dialogue 3)

The King begins his journey peacefully. Striding through the dark grass, silvery petals abruptly growing and curling around the edges of his ceremonial robe. As he steps over the threshold of his realm, no more are there flowers blooming beneath his bare feet. Instead, they moulder, leaving a trail of sweet decay. Behind him thread two stallions. He may be willing to approach his Queen on feet, baring himself of all godly grace, as there is no way in all the world he would come before her on a higher ground, but in the name of all his love for her, he would never let her return as any less than his equal ruler. _As if there is such a thing as godly grace left for him._

In all his honesty, he would never call the Olympus´ lecherous live-ins graceful, perhaps but a few. The mortals were promised Gods. They were told their Gods would live. But they died.

He walks for miles until he finally sees traces of her workmanship. Flowers of silver and gold, blooming under the light of the Goddess Selene. Petals softer than the most delicate Olympian silk, reminiscent of her moonlit cheeks. His heart swells at the thought of being in her presence once again. She passed only a moon before, expecting his arrival.

Now she is drowning his every sense in her essence, luring him in. He is blind, walking into his demise, unaware.

_Once his eyes catch the vision of her presence, his mind is no longer his own._

To him, she is all-consuming. Her skin uniquely sun kissed, pale as alabaster, but with undertones of olive and marigold. When their gazes meet, he understands precisely why nearly all mortals, Gods or demi-gods thought of her as the most prepossessing of all Goddesses. They simply could not look away. Were she not brighter than the Sun itself, or her lips not full and ruby rose, such that no jewels in his realm could match, or her hands not gentler than a summer breeze, or her posture not as lean as a willow in the wind, it would make no difference. All you needed to do was look her in her orange rimmed emerald eyes and the world and your soul would swirl into oblivion. Unimportant, secondary, trivial. All that mattered was the here and now – a philosophy no deity in their right mind would dare consider. All they ever had and will ever have is time, after all.

Why, then, was Persephone´s hand not requested over and over again? It is as simple as fear. Men quiver before beauty as they do before nothing else. Beauty, after all, rides on on the right side of terror. And that which is beyond comprehension they lessen, in order to serve their own limited visions. They wish to possess it, to chain it, so that it may never surpass them. The Bringer of Death frightened them to their very core. Persephone´s skin was inscribed with intricate patterns of flower stems and tree branches, and her hair was raven. Raven, with one pale white wisp, braided with beads of gold. As much as her presence entranced, so it frightened. The Goddess was adored, but much adoration comes from fear of wrath. And one did not want to meet the wrath of the Bringer of Death.

That is why her King was one like no other. In his darkness she found a place of safety and adoration not despite of her fearful presence, but _because_ of it. To him she was the representation of one who held the power to drive all of creation into decay and all men into unhinged madness, but did not allow it to consume her heart. Her power willed for a single white flower inside his heart to bloom, grow roots and weave itself into his soul. She held him together with soft threads of her love like no else. When she looked upon him she saw all her apparent faults, all that men wanted to chain and rein in – amplified. To the most extreme and alluring level. But there was nothing about him needing to be restrained, he was majestic in all his darkness. To her it shone brighter than all the stars in the night sky, and glowed warmer than all earthly fires of soft and sweet deceit.

_Now they look upon each other, and all their unconditional adoration is unleashed. Their exchanged gazes ones of heavenly and sinful worship, meet in a moment of celestial duality._

He raises his thin, almost skeletal hands to her face, and he barely deciphered the blackness in her glance.

Softly, in one breath all her heart contained, it escapes her mellow lips _: „_ _Ἀїδωνεύς_.“ From her lips it did not sound like a curse, name that the mortals called when they deemed themselves brave enough to think the one who brings peace to their souls after their inevitable death was the same one they should blame for whatever awaits after. They thought him shameful, or cursed like it was not a burden he had to bear, and then called him unseen, out of fear. From her it was an act of forgiveness, and a promise to always accept and celebrate every part of him.

Eager to return the favour, he nearly desperately poured all of him, which was hers, into a single word and like a chant sung by the three Fates themselves, whispered: „ _Κόρη._ “ Now he sung to her how in his eyes her love was not an act of mindless destruction nor treason, but honest and true like her maiden name. In one word he told her how by choosing him, she does not give up all that is pure and kind, no matter what others regard her to be. A sad tingle in his eyes apologized for bringing that fate upon her, but with a smile she brushed it off.

She did not wish to see anything but love, hear anything but love, feel anything but love. 

> _Neither dying nor living nor_
> 
> _healing,_ _I don’t feel any pain_
> 
> _of my sickness, despite its_
> 
> _tremendous intensity._ _I’m_
> 
> _unable to scrutinize the_
> 
> _mystery of her love, I don’t_
> 
> _know whether she will agree_
> 
> _to my passion, and even less_
> 
> _when that could occur. For in_
> 
> _her lies the entire Mercy that_
> 
> _can lead me to enhance or to_
> 
> _decay_

_\- Jaufre Rudel_

"quan lo rius de la fontana"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning lines were also featured in Deborah Harkness´ "A Discovery of Witches", from which derives some inspiration for this chapter. Written by the Nolan, Giordano Bruno - one of my personal favourite poets, also a great visionary in the field of astronomy.  
> Ἀїδωνεύς - ancient greek, "Aidoneus", other name for Hades, meaning "shameful/respectful mind" or "unseen one".  
> Κόρη - Persephone´s name before marrying Hades and finding her place as the Queen of the Underworld, meaning "maiden".  
> The piece of poetry on the end is a verse from an old Occitan poem, also featured in "A Discovery of Witches", though in a more modern form. The original lines:  
> "Ni muer ni viu ni no guaris, / Ni mal no·m sent e si l'ai gran, / Quar de s'Amor no suy devis, / Non sai si ja l'aurai ni quan, / Qu'en lieys es tota la merces / Que·m pot sorzer o decazer".


End file.
